


you make me shy

by kismetNemesis



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Indirect Kisses, Mutual Pining, The Adventure Zone: Nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kismetNemesis/pseuds/kismetNemesis
Summary: “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, completely distracted by the feeling of her warm skin on his palm.“I said, would you like to go out?”-Tom and Troth go out (on a date?)





	you make me shy

**Author's Note:**

> I did a poll on twitter (@kismetnemesis, if you wanna come hang out) and the two highest-rated options were "go on a date" and "pine for each other", so enjoy this combination!

Tom blinked down at Troth’s hand in his. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, completely distracted by the feeling of her warm skin on his palm. 

“I said, would you like to go out?” Tom looked back up at Troth’s face, her large yellow eyes nearly luminous in the low light of the Beast’s headquarters. 

“Uh, where to?” 

“Uh.” Troth paused for a moment, tail swishing. “To the soup kitchen?”

“Sure, that sounds fun,” said Tom, giving her hand a little squeeze. He and Troth had become much closer friends lately, and he nearly flapped his arm with excitement at the prospect of spending more one-on-one time with her.

“But I’m correct in that... you said yes, right?” Troth said slowly and carefully. Her eyebrows betrayed concern for some reason Tom couldn’t identify, and he reached up to smooth the wrinkle out of her forehead. She froze.

“Sorry, was that weird?”

“No, it was fine,” she assured him, touching the spot he’d touched with something akin to reverence. She smiled, and Tom couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are we going now?” he asked. “I’m free, unless you think I should change...”

Troth shook her head and simply grabbed her staff from where it had been resting on the doorframe. She shifted it from her right hand to her left and started to reach towards Tom before quickly shifting it back. 

Tom shook his head, unable to guess what the staff-shifting could’ve meant. She had all kinds of odd monastery mannerisms, like taking her shoes off before going inside and sitting on the floor instead of in a chair.

As they headed out across the city, Tom watched Troth calmly weather the odd glances and whispers she always got when they went out in public. Not only was Troth larger than most people, but her species was incredibly rare, and she dressed much more simply than the rest of the population. Tom himself never went out without at least shirt and a vest, if not a full jacket.

“So, Tom. Have you ever been to the soup kitchen before?”

“No, never,” he admitted. “Will they take me as a volunteer?”

“They’re always grateful for help. Not many wish to help the unfortunates of Underton.”

“Well, hey. Even I didn’t bother to, before you,” Tom pointed out. “I really admire your, uh, goodness.” He hoped he sounded sincere. Troth was the best- _most virtuous-_ person he’d ever met, and he hoped she knew that.

“Thank you, friend,” she said softly. 

As they approached the soup kitchen, Tom realized that something was off about Troth’s walk. He opened his mouth to ask her if something was wrong before realizing that she must have been taking shorter strides so that he could keep up without having to jog. 

“We’re here,” he said, just to distract himself from his nervous heartbeat. 

“I’m aware.” 

“I know you know, it’s just- never mind,” Tom sputtered, trying to cover up his anxiety. 

Troth knocked on a metal side door, and a peephole slid open. It seemed like a lot of security for a soup kitchen, but Troth just gave a little wave to the elf who peeked through and they nodded and drew back to open the door. 

“Hi, I’m Tom Collins, nice to meet you.” 

“And I am Troth.”

“I know you’re Troth! This your friend?” The elf looked impatient, but not unfriendly. Still, Tom’s social anxiety drew near to spilling over.

 

“He’s my-” Troth stopped short. “He’s my Tom.”

“Well, alright then,” the elf replied, oblivious to the way Tom blushed at the possessive. “Can you serve food, Tom?”

“Oh, yes. I’m a bartender.”

“Great. You can serve the oatmeal.” The elf stood back and let them into a hot kitchen, bustling with people of all shapes and species. Tom spotted at least two other half-elves, but no tieflings. 

The front of the kitchen looked out into a large cafeteria, which only had about a dozen people sitting and eating. 

“It’s just before the lunch rush,” the elf explained. “Put this on.” Tom accepted the large apron that they shoved at him, though it didn’t do much to cover his chest when he put it on. He settled for tying a knot in the neck strap to shorten it.

He spotted the oatmeal station and began making his way towards it before Troth caught his wrist.

“Can he- may he work with me?” said Troth, as always polite in her phrasing but vaguely threatening in her tone. 

“I can’t trust him to cook, so you’re gonna have to serve oatmeal.”

“That’s fine,” said Troth, and nearly knocked Tom over as she dragged him to the oatmeal. With anyone else, Tom might’ve thought she was angry, but he knew from experience that this was just her natural strength at work.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asked, watching her arm muscles flex as she put on a similar apron (much more appropriately sized on her). “Cooking seems like more fun...”

 

“You’re more fun,” she insisted. “I’m here to spend time with you, of course.”

 

“Oh!” said Tom happily. “Hell yeah.”

“People do not normally get so excited over oatmeal,” she teased. He rolled his eyes and pushed her arm, which didn’t make her budge in the slightest. He left his hand there for a second too long before they both shifted suddenly away from each other. 

Tom offered up a quick prayer to his god that neither Troth nor their patrons would realize how much Tom wanted to put his hand back on her arm, and that everyone would attribute his red face to the hot kitchen. Most of the appliances ran on steam, not magic, putting Tom in mind of the days when he’d just started running the bar, and he couldn’t afford any better.

The soup kitchen was low-budget, but it ran efficiently and seemed very popular, as evidenced by the constant stream of people who wanted oatmeal. There wasn’t really time for a proper conversation, but Tom and Troth were still able to exchange a few words here and there. Tom could still glance at her sweaty collarbones over the top of his steamed-up glasses before guiltily looking away. 

It was tough work ladling out hundreds of bowls, though, and Tom was very grateful when Troth patted him on the back and asked if he needed a break. 

Troth led him out behind the kitchen, both of them gasping in the cool air.

“Good work, friend,” said Troth. 

“You too,” said Tom, rubbing his aching arms. “We don’t have to do that for much longer, do we?” Troth frowned.

“Did you not enjoy it?”

“No, it was fun! It was fun to be with you,” he said. “I just don’t think I can stand the heat and standing up for much longer.”

Tom wiped the sweat off his neck, but when he moved his hand back down, Troth caught it.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

“Oh, it’s a combination of things,” he shrugged. “Hard work, heat...” _Troth’s presence,_ though she didn’t need to know that last one.

“Perhaps this will help.” Troth presented him with a glass of something cold and sweet, and Tom gulped at it gratefully.

“Oh, that hits the spot! Damn! What is that?”

“It’s a kind of fruit juice from elsewhere on the continent. My contact here owed me a glass...” 

Tom realized that they only had one glass between them, and handed it back guiltily. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hog it!” 

“Don’t worry, friend,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s my gift.”

“You could make some killer cocktails with that,” Tom mused. 

Troth took another sip, then offered him the glass back.

“I hear they call that an indirect kiss,” she said, nearly making him choke. She giggled. 

“W-well,” he said, then stopped, because Troth had taken his hand again. She raised it slowly to her mouth, and pressed a kiss to the back before gently letting go. Tom felt as though his heart might drill a hole in his chest.

“And that’s a...” she started, before running a nervous hand along a horn.

“That’s a direct one, yeah,” said Tom. They looked at each other for a long moment before Tom could no longer bear it and sprang to his feet.

“Can we get going?” Troth nodded and stood up, restoring their height difference to its normal absurdity.

“Just let me go inside and tell them we’re going.”

Once Troth was inside, Tom pressed his hands over his mouth and let out a muffled scream. 

He had no goddamn clue what any of it meant. Had it been a friendly gesture? Did he want it to be _more than friendly?_

The wave of heat that rushed over him at the thought of doing anything more than friendly with Troth told him the answer was a resounding yes. Oh, god. When had things gotten so complicated? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? 

Troth reappeared, and Tom did his best not to jump.

“Are you quite alright?” 

“I’m fine! Fine! Good!” 

As they walked, Tom let Troth think he was just too tired to talk, while the gears in his brain sped up to a fever pitch. The moment of the kiss played over and over like a skipping record.

When they got back to Beast headquarters, Tom had just begun to plan his escape back to his room to think when Troth pulled him into a hug. 

“I had a wonderful time, friend,” she said, cataclysmically close to his ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes,” he said, dazed. “Me too.” How did someone so sweaty smell so good?

It was only when she turned the corner and was out of his sight that Tom realized that she might have meant this to be a date all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know you if you liked my very niche ship content!


End file.
